How A Hero Breathes
by padfoot's prose
Summary: "Kurt, I love you so much," he breathes. Blaine wonders if this is how his forever will be spent: waiting for Kurt to say it back. The idea doesn't repulse him, but injects him with a new spurt of strength. It gives him the assertion that, I have forever to make this up to him, I have forever to make him love me again. And then, the silence breaks.


**A/N: This was written for emmrZep as a Christmas present. She asked for angst.  
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**Warning: For me, if I stumbled upon this story, it would be a teensy bit triggery for anxiety/panic attacks. But probably mostly because it's a brain-dump of exactly what they feel like when I have them. So, please, just be careful. I'm always here if you want to talk. And also, I promise it has a happy ending.  
Oh, also, some mild profanity. Because sometimes shit happens, and there's no way to fancy that up.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

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**How A Hero Breathes**

...

Sometimes, Blaine feels like he can't breathe. He feels like his lungs have closed up and his throat has closed up and his whole body is trying to curl into a ball, trying to make itself small and unnoticeable so that no one can touch him or hurt him. It makes him remember not being able to breathe when feet and fists and shouts were slamming into him from all sides, but mostly from above. Makes him feel small, scared, alone and unprotected. Not worthy of protection in this stupid, shitty world.

Kurt used to be the one to undo all of that.

"The world is the horrible one, Blaine, not you. Never you."

It was always the _world's_ fault. Its fault for not being ready for him, for not being able to see how great he was, how worthy he was of being there.

Only this time it is his fault. The world played no part in this event – just him and Kurt, and a man named Eli who was kind and sweet and never did anything wrong, not really. This time, it's Blaine who was horrible.

He doesn't think that because he's trying to 'villainise' himself, or because he has a guilty conscience, or because he naturally leans towards blaming himself. In fact, in the past two years with Kurt, he's almost managed to get into the habit of liking who he is. Because if someone as great as Kurt can love him, he can't be all bad, right? But now- now he thinks he is horrible because he _is_ horrible. It's as simple as that.

That fact – that solid, absolute truth – was there in Kurt's eyes. It was in his shaking hands and his stuttered breaths and his hoarse, broken voice. Kurt _knew_ that Blaine was horrible. Kurt knew that, in that moment, Blaine had stopped being worthy. Stopped deserving to be able to breathe without his throat closing in, his lungs shrinking, his body curling up.

And so, for every second after that, Blaine stops breathing right.

He stops giving himself the privilege of a smile in the mirror, when he looks himself over each morning. He takes away his own licence to sing for the joy of it, spends his time with his head buried in a book or in his pillow when it all gets to be too much. He distances himself from the happiness of friends, of music, of the _life_ that Kurt had let him build. Because the only reason he was allowed that life was because he was _good_ and _kind_ and _did the right thing_. Horrible people don't deserve those kinds of luxuries.

Every day of Blaine's life starts with a check of his phone.

_Am I a good person yet?_

Not once does he send that very message, but it's really all he wants to say. Instead he sends _I'm so sorry_ over and over and over and over until his thumbs are shaking and his breaths are ragged and they _hurt_ and everything _hurts_ so damn much that he can feel that instinct kick in, the one that wants him to curl up and just take it. Take every kick and punch and drop of spittle that lands on him. Because he deserves every single ounce of pain for what he did to Kurt. He deserves all the pain in the world, even the pain he'll never be able to feel: starvation, plague, childbirth, operations without anaesthetic, having your arm or leg crushed under a truck or a tree, being eaten alive, water torture, death by poison or suffocation or strangling or electric chair – he deserves all of it again and again and again but he _knows _his body won't let him feel it, he knows he'll die before he makes it through so much pain because he's _weak_ and-

And _horrible._

And it's all, entirely him.

The world played no part in his betrayal.

...

Blaine knows his mind plays tricks on him sometimes. It's one of those things that is so easy to see when someone spells it out to him, when someone says, "Step back, and breathe. Look at it all. Look what you've been through, and then think how best to deal with it." Kurt used to be the one to say that to him. Or to not need to say it to him, because with Kurt around everything was sort of more stable, less likely to break and shrink and compress.

Blaine remembers that time he sat on the couch in the Dalton borders common room with Kurt and there was an ad on TV for one of those vacuum-seal bags. And without thinking about it for a second, Blaine had leant over and said, "That's what it feels like, when my mind shuts down. That's what it feels like my body is doing."

Kurt had heard the story of the Sadie Hawkins Dance, had know what Blaine was talking about. Had even seen it happen, just once, caught the very end of it when Blaine emerged from a bathroom stall, face stained red and eyes wrung dry. Beside him on the couch, Kurt had wriggled, shifting closer and slipping a hand into Blaine's, squeezing it tight, then letting go. They'd only been friends then, so unaware of everything else that lay just beneath, of the plethora of feelings simmering so close to the surface, terrifying and wonderful in their measure and matter. Regardless though, it had been nice for Blaine, feeling that assurance, that comfort. It had been enough.

Right now though, he knows he needs more than that. No one here could squeeze his hand and leave it at that, no one here could reassure him in such a simple, natural way. That was something only Kurt could do. One of the many, many things that only Kurt could do.

There was – there still is, even if it has no right to be – something different about Kurt, something that sets him aside from everyone else in the world. It's not just love, although that's a big part of it, but something huger, something more all-encompassing. The words seem so foolish now, except they've just grown truer with time: _I've been looking for you forever_. Blaine didn't know what it meant then, and in all honesty he probably barely knows what it means now, but with each passing year, he realises more and more how long forever truly is. How awful the idea of it is, spent with anyone but Kurt.

Two years ago, he hadn't known what to do with the strange sort of pull he felt towards this quirky, strong, beautiful boy. It was such an odd sensation to feel, a sort of constant _I have to be with you_ that was confusing and sweet and really sort of creepy. It wasn't even romantic, not at first, and even when some of it was, that wasn't all. Kurt was just- _there_. He was like the moon and the sun and the stars and the ground beneath Blaine's feet and the sky up above him and the air on his skin. Kurt was everything and anything, so wholly imposed on Blaine's existence that he was utterly undeniable, utterly un-ignorable.

Blaine knows his mind plays tricks on him sometimes. Makes him think that everything isn't going to be all right, or that everyone hates him, or that he deserves all the pain in the world. But he knows that sometimes it's not a trick. That sometimes that clarity – as stinging and harsh and agonising as it is – is precious. Sometimes, clarity is necessary, not matter how much it hurts.

And Kurt's presence everywhere, Kurt's mutability and his pervasiveness: that isn't a trick. It's true. Kurt is everywhere. And Blaine...

Blaine just wants to get away from it all.

...

Sometimes, good things happen in the world. Sometimes Blaine plays a part in them, oftentimes Kurt does, and on rare occasions they both do, and Blaine manages not to let it hurt. The good can overcome the bad in him, and since Kurt has so much good to offer, Blaine figures that if his good deeds can even show up as a speck against Kurt's, then that's enough. That's enough for Blaine to hold back the tears, and get back to making up.

He has a lot of making up to do.

Making up himself every morning to prepare for the day ahead. He sends off two texts now: one to Kurt (_I'll never stop loving you_) and one to himself (_it's okay_). It strikes him as odd that neither are orders – they're not imperative or even encouraging. They're just _things_, the animals and plants that adorn his world, making it beautiful and worth living in. Assertions that mightn't be objectively true or essential, but that matter so, so much in getting him through the day.

Making up with everyone at school, especially Finn and Tina who didn't quite get what was wrong. And he knows he has Kurt's past actions to thank for Sam now being on his list of friends. Wonderful Sam who has found some spare strength deep inside, strength that he hands across to Blaine each and every day, as if he has no idea what it means to freely give so much of his good heart away.

Making up with Kurt, ultimately. That, of course, is the master plan and, even if it takes forever, Blaine is going to do it. Because he's thought of forever without Kurt, he's tried to stomach that notion. But he can't. He _won't_. He'll never accept that that's the way his life is going to be.

And, over time, something inside him just... crumbles. The part of his mind that loves to torture him, that tells him he's _bad _and _unworthy_ and _horrible –_ it just _goes_ one day. Blaine doesn't notice it at first, doesn't recognise the feeling of the noose being gone from around his neck. It had felt the same when he'd moved to Dalton at first, as if something that had hung around him constantly – some weight on his shoulders or a shadow on his back – had been lifted away and suddenly he was free to just _be_.

It's a change, making Blaine feel uncomfortable in his skin – feel exposed and vulnerable and as if everyone is looking at him differently. But for hours and hours he doesn't understand _Why_, _why is everyone staring? _Only no one is staring and it's all just a confusing sensation inside, as out of place as rubbing his hands over his head the day after a haircut, or touching his chin and noticing he forgot to shave, or opening his phone and frowning when there's no new text from himself. Realising that he forgot to send that text this morning. Realising that he forgot to send the other one too. Realising that it doesn't hurt him too much to discover that.

Forgetting to text Kurt doesn't mean that Blaine loves him any less. If anything, it means he loves him more, now able to love him free from guilt, loving him out of nothing but purity and heart and soul. Blaine knows that Kurt mightn't get that, but he also knows with solid certainty that one day he'll be able to tell him, to recall the day he stopped calling himself 'the bad guy'.

And it's not that _he's_ free of guilt all of sudden, but that he's managed to move beyond it.

That betrayal will always be a part of him – always be hiding in the trash can that he sweeps the rubble into – hissing dark stories of what he's done. But from that day on, there's just no more for Blaine to say about it, not to himself, not to anyone but Kurt. One day, when Kurt demands this story, Blaine will empty the rubbish and sort through it, briefly finding those parts of himself that are capable of such horribleness, but not today. _Not today_.

Today, Blaine lets his lips curve in a smile as he checks his hair in the bathroom mirror before heading to the choir room. He loses himself in the music as they go over the numbers one last time, and he rides high on every emotion of his and Marley's soulful ballad – just letting it be felt, not letting it hurt. Grinning and laughing and _accepting_ the bare and simple joy of the other song in all its silly nonsense. Because he finally, truly believes that he _deserves_ all of this. Not because he's good or kind or has never made mistakes, but because he's human and humans have a right to live their lives with happiness.

Blaine hasn't by any means given up on Kurt, and he doesn't by any long shot think that that deceiving, evil, hating part of his mind is gone forever. He just accepts that in this moment he is happy, and that that's okay. _It's okay_, his texts used to say. All that the difference is, really, is that today he doesn't need reminding.

Half an hour later and they're waiting backstage when Blaine's phone rings. When he catches sight of the caller, he knows with absolutely certainty that he'd miss their performance – hell, he'd do _anything_, anything at all – to take the call. So he stands and walks away from it all – from music and friends and all the other things he wants in life – all for Kurt. He'll always do that for Kurt. Always.

As they talk, Blaine starts feeling like he can't breathe. He feels like his lungs have closed up and his throat has closed up and his whole body is trying to curl into a ball, trying to make itself small and unnoticeable so that no one can touch him or hurt him.

Only he realises, as he chokes out a laugh and a smile, that this isn't him moving backwards. This isn't him becoming a victim or a villain again. This is him being human. This is him making mistakes and making up for them too.

"Kurt, I love you so much," he breathes through his shrunken lungs, his tight throat. Because he can't _not_ say it. Because those words scream from every fibre of his being and adorn his entire universe. Because those words are permanently stamped onto his heart and his soul, and he'll never, ever not mean them.

There's a pause that feels like it goes for an eternity.

Blaine wonders if this is how his forever will be spent: waiting for Kurt to say it back. The idea doesn't repulse him, just injects him with a new spurt of strength. The assertion that, _I have forever to make this up to him, I have forever to make him love me again._

And then, the silence breaks.

"I love you too."

And Blaine breathes again and it's like it frees him – well and truly frees him – from it all. This isn't how a person who is just _being _breathes, this isn't the air that someone who just _gets by_ is able to live on. This is honey and sugar and all things sweet and beautiful. This is the moon and the sun and the stars and the sticky linoleum beneath Blaine's feet and the black painted ceiling up above him and the air caressing his skin. This isn't how a human breathes. It's how a hero does.


End file.
